My oldest son, Jonah, just turned 14.
He is absolutely convinced he knows everything. As part of that, he thinks he knows everything about me.
It is true, over the last 14 years, I have likely spent more time with him than with anyone other than my wife and I am likely the single person he has spent the most time with.
Even so, there is nearly 30 years of my life that he knows almost nothing about. He knows nothing of my childhood, days spent fighting and climbing, camping for days and living with a very sick mother. He knows very little of my high school days, years where I skipped school to go hunting, mowed lawns for money and cared for a step-brother and step-sister while their bi-polar mother struggled to keep it together, all the while maintaining a high GPA taking college prep classes. (On occasion I do mention the GPA and class load when Jonah can’t seem to find the effort to pull his grades out of the Bs.)
He knows nothing of foolish days in college (I will list no details here, but trust me I was foolish) or my young professional career as a lobbyist. He has no inkling that I coached middle school football for several years, or that I worked multiple jobs at a time to put myself through school. He certainly has no comprehension that I dated before I met his mother.
My kids don’t ever think their parents lived in a tiny apartment on the west side of Columbus, that we ate hotdogs and eggs because that’s all we could afford
Jonah recently saw pictures of my house in Wyoming and asked about it. Until that moment, he didn’t know I had ever lived out west. In fact, he said that while he knew I was from Pennsylvania, he never put it together that I wasn’t also a life-long Ohioan.
I have a good relationship with one of my sisters, but I am not close with my other sisters or brothers. I have very little contact with my father and none with my step-mother. I have two brothers and a sister that my kids have never met and probably don’t know their names.
My children never think about where I came from or that I existed before their awareness. I am not blaming them — I did the same thing to my parents and I think most children don’t think much about their parents’ pre-family days.
And as amazing as that is, what’s more amazing is I too struggle to remember those days either. I know I had a life and I know I enjoyed it, but I can’t really remember my life before my kids.
-Mac Cordell is a reporter for the Journal-Tribune.